


Mass Marketing Flirting Scheme

by seapotato



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: "for warmth", #springboiz, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 05, Prompt writing, Seasonally Appropriate, Sharing a Bed, Sugar Daddy Arthur, bad but good flirting, gwen/+morgana in the background, the outdoors, they embarrass me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapotato/pseuds/seapotato
Summary: “Arthur, where are we going? We can't—you can't just leave!”“Calm down, Merlin. We're going to take a walk through the markets. It's not like I'm throwing myself into a pit of snakes.”And, of course, just as he said that they passed by a disreputable vendor with a basket up to Merlin's waist filled with snakes. Hanging down from the stall's awning were crudely drawn pictures of strongmen wrestling oversized serpents. Arthur paused just long enough for Merlin to knock into him.---Or, a day of flirting in the market
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 299





	Mass Marketing Flirting Scheme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rinja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinja/gifts).



> Rin gave me some mass marketing email subject lines as a prompt and this is what happened. Remember when we could all go outside and flirt with our crushes while window shopping?

“Arthur, where are we going? We can't—you can't just leave!”

“Calm down, Merlin. We're going to take a walk through the markets. It's not like I'm throwing myself into a pit of snakes.”

And, of course, just as he said that they passed by a disreputable vendor with a basket up to Merlin's waist filled with snakes. Hanging down from the stall's awning were crudely drawn pictures of strongmen wrestling oversized serpents. Arthur paused just long enough for Merlin to knock into him.

The shop owner immediately jumped on Arthur's momentary interest. “Want to try your hand at it, sir? Or place a bet? Matches every day after sundown, see the strongest, most fearless men this side of the valley fight off fanged death itself!”

Arthur looked like he was actually considering it.

“No! No way!” Merlin said, which, why did he even have to say that? Didn't Arthur know these were obviously scams? Besides, he felt worse for the snakes, poor things, none of them were even dangerous. He could probably....use his magic to tear a little hole in the bottom of the basket, and if the snakes happened to get out....

“Could be a good way to scout some new knights,” Arthur said, mostly to himself. Merlin grabbed his elbow and yanked him away back into the bustling street.

Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin tugged him along. “Relax, I was joking. I really do just want to see the market. We've been trapped inside for months.”

It was hard to argue with that. The winter in Camelot had been particularly brutal. Frost had come early and knocked the leaves off the trees before most of them had even changed color. Bitter winds swept through the forest and battered the castle, seeping into every nook and cranny. Old moth-eaten tapestries had been rolled out and hung behind the more presentable ones to try to block out the ever-present freezing drafts. They'd even closed off outer rooms and halls, the whole court shuffling inward, servants taking shifts to keep the fireplaces going and hot embers in the warming pans. Merlin had tried heating spells, but they wore off after he fell asleep. His experiments in extending them past consciousness had lit his bed on fire.

Gwen had moved into the castle to room with Morgana, something that Merlin was intensely jealous of because body heat didn't fade by three in the morning unless the person, you know, died. He was complaining about it one night in January, exhausted from having to be alive and awake and moving during the day instead of wrapped in as many quilts as he could scrounge. It had been late, and Merlin was wrapping a few extra heated stones for Arthur's bed, whispering what charms he could on them, his teeth chattering so hard he could barely speak. It didn't stop him from telling Arthur how unfair it was that Morgana and Gwen got to wake every morning without feeling as stiff as a corpse, or like their bones were going to snap from the cold. He shoved two hot stones at the foot of Arthur's bed, still chattering and complaining, when Arthur lifted the corner of the many duvets and said, face already mashed into a pillow, “Will you be quiet and get in already?”

His eyes were squeezed shut liked it pained him to say it. Or maybe because it was so cold. Merlin stared at him for a moment too long and Arthur nearly shouted, “Now, Merlin! It's freezing!”

Merlin wasted no time in shucking off his three jackets, extra tunic, scarf, and outer woolen trousers and clambering in next to Arthur. It took a few nights of kicking and shoving before they figured it out, but after that, Merlin spent the nights in relative warmth.

It was late spring now and only finally warm enough for the first sojourn out. Uther had sent them to investigate reports of unrest around a border town with Lot's kingdom. So while having Arthur sneak out of the inn with zero guard was enough to give Merlin a heart attack (he'd caught Arthur just as he was dropping out of the _third floor window_ as if he didn't have enough problems without Arthur instigating them on purpose), he was also glad to be out. The sun was bright even if the air was chill. Great white puffy clouds moved slowly overhead, nearly glowing against the vibrant blue sky.

Merlin slowed down a bit and stopped tugging on Arthur's sleeve so that they could walk side by side, which was definitely not appropriate for a prince and his manservant, but Arthur didn't seem to care right now. It might be because no one recognized him, and the knights weren't here for him to maintain his image. He was in his, what Merlin called, plebeian clothes, though the fabric was actually clean and so finely woven and stitched that he only barely passed as not-royalty. Every merchant was clocking him as filthy rich, though, and Merlin did his best to direct his glare at all of them. Arthur had good reflexes but he had a stupidly soft heart and was relatively sheltered having grown up in the confines of Camelot. He was an excellent mark for too many schemes.

“Fine,” Merlin said reluctantly, shooting a harsh stare at an old woman who was approaching Arthur with her hands full of no doubt fake poultices and tinctures, “But only for an hour. You don't want the knights stampeding through the markets looking for you.”

They wove through the stalls, some humble with roughly hewn posts and tables, others with bright flags snapping cheerfully in the breeze. Arthur stopped erratically and without much of a plan. Merlin tagged along, cutting Arthur off from being drawn into an arm wrestling match, and shoving him in the side to try to get him to haggle for a disgustingly overpriced embroidered ribbon for Morgana. He ended up taking over and doing it himself because Arthur had just stared at him and said, “Quit shoving me!” like an idiot.

The cries of the vendors carried over all of it, washing around them as the morning wore on. Merlin knew he was getting a bit lax keeping a sharp eye on anyone planning to swindle or stab Arthur. He was having—ugh—too much fun. Arthur was playful and serious by turns. He sincerely asked Merlin's opinion on a gift for Gaius, holding up two physician's baskets with cleverly secured lids. Merlin felt overwhelmed with fondness. It was not conducive to glaring at peddlers and keeping his magic at the ready.

He knew that it had been over an hour but he was selfish and didn't have the heart to make Arthur turn back. Arthur, aware of it or not, had been a horrible flirt the entire morning and Merlin, aware of it and unable to stop, had been a horrible flirt right back. Half a winter spent basically snuggling through the night didn't help whatever threadbare boundaries were left.

Case in point: At a large stall that displayed weaponry from all over the land, Arthur had waved a wooden sword in Merlin's face which Merlin refused to engage with until Arthur prodded him painfully in the arm and said, “Come on, you coward,” with a rakish grin that distracted Merlin long enough to gain him another painful stab in the arm. Merlin grabbed his own wooden sword, belatedly realized it was too small and intended for a child, and he and Arthur had a fake bout that didn't destroy anything but did attract attention. Merlin let him win by virtue of not using his magic. It lasted less than five minutes before Arthur had Merlin's arm pinned behind his back and was leaning against him laughing in his ear, the broad weight of him pressed against Merlin's shoulders. Merlin took a deep breath and did his best not to push back, though he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he did.

Arthur released him and said, “Terrible, but a bit better than when we first met,” and Merlin felt his ears go red at the idea that Arthur remembered, that he might think about it often enough or hold it in his mind as important enough to bring up after so many years.

“Yes, well,” Merlin said, rolling his shoulder to distract from the fluttering in his stomach, “You're still a prat. A bit better, though,” he finished, giving Arthur a cheeky smile and easily ducking the swipe to his head.

They walked a bit more, letting the sun warm them through. They were almost at the end of the main street when Arthur caught Merlin looking longingly at a spread of inks, brushes, and a bound journal with paper so thick and beautiful Merlin hardly wanted to touch it. He knew there would be no bleed-through and that the inks wouldn't run. There were colors that were so expensive that even looking at them made him feel like he'd been caught stealing.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him but he didn't really need to ask. He'd caught scraps of Merlin's drawings before: Camelot's spiraling turrets, a clump of flowers spilling out of one of the royal gardens, the horses drinking from a stream, the knights training, campfires with twisting flames, cypresses and maples. And, one that neither of them ever talked about, of Arthur sitting by the window reading an overlong treatise on a summer's day. It had been a quick sketch, done what Merlin thought was surreptitiously, on the back of a list of supplies Gaius needed from town. Merlin had left it out on one of Gaius's work tables for it to dry. It had disappeared while he was doing chores and he thought maybe it had gotten shuffled in with all of Gaius's papers. He had found it months later tucked carefully between the pages of a book of maps he'd been dusting off in Arthur's rooms.

Merlin shrugged at Arthur's raised eyebrow and moved quickly away from the drawing set, only to stop abruptly when he heard Arthur say to the merchant behind him, “And how much for five colors?”

The merchant quoted back a price that made Merlin's head swim. He was used to the wealth of the castle, the casual decadence of a feast, the finery of all the court, but he wasn't used to it directed at _him_. Horrifyingly, Arthur didn't even haggle. _Five colors_. Merlin has had three at most, that he largely made himself from experimenting with plant dyes. Most faded quickly in the sunlight. What was he going to do with _five colors_? He could paint nearly anything. It was dizzying.

He heard Arthur pay (the sound of so many coins clinking heavily) and then Arthur came up next to him and bumped his shoulder, slapped the cloth roll of brushes, a large pouch with the inks, and the notebook against his chest.

“Come on, I'm not carrying your things. It's against the law, or something. I'll clap you in irons,” Arthur said lightly. He looked a little flustered but entirely too pleased with himself. Merlin brought his arms up to clutch everything carefully. He knew his face was blazingly red and he was about to protest because how was he going to explain this to the knights, to Gaius, to anyone, it was obvious only one person had the wealth to bestow a gift like this, it was— _possessive_ in a totally gratifying and completely embarrassing way. He gaped at Arthur, who smiled back beatifically and roughly mussed Merlin's hair before turning away.

“Besides,” he tossed over his shoulder, “maybe now you can make a decent drawing for once.”

“You—! Agh!” Merlin shoved everything into the basket they'd picked for Gaius and ran after him.

**Author's Note:**

> When writing this I thought: "If Merlin painted, would Arthur really notice? Does he pay that much attention?" and then I remember the episode in S5 when Arthur says, "I haven't seen you smile in three days" and tries to tease Merlin until he laughs and I realize that I played myself and Arthur pays much more attention than I give him credit for.


End file.
